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Zhuo Er glanced at her, unable to hide his confusion. "Miss Song, without any money, what are you here to buy? Just so you know, this Xiahua flower cost us quite a bit; we’re not trying to rip you off."
Song Feiwan hurriedly explained, "I understand the market price of the Xiahua flower. I am truly grateful that the young master is willing to part with it. Even at a reasonable price, I would be willing to accept."
"But you have no money," Zhuo Er replied.
It seemed this matter could not be resolved easily.
Song Feiwan let out a soft sigh and turned to the man inside. "Young master, I genuinely wish to buy this herb."
The man smiled faintly, "Miss Song, I’m afraid I cannot extend credit."
"That’s not what I meant," Song Feiwan’s face flushed deeper. "I can definitely raise the money within three days. Could you please wait for me?"
The reward given to her by Consort Rong was still in the palace; once she received the imperial decree, she would have the silver.
The man remained silent.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed two tall attendants outside the door, looking at her with doubtful expressions.
Song Feiwan bit her lip and anxiously removed the jade bracelet from her wrist. It had been mistreated for many years and held little value; this table was all that remained from when her mother was alive.
It still had some worth and could fetch around two taels.
She extended the bracelet forward through the curtain, letting it fall into the man’s view.
Her fingers were delicate and slender as they gripped the table, slightly pale from exertion.
His gaze darkened a little.
"I am willing to use this bracelet as collateral. Please trust me," she said earnestly.
This time, the man finally spoke. "Zhuo Da."
The other attendant, who had been silent until now, responded, "Yes."
"Take it."
"Understood."
Seeing Zhuo Da accept the bracelet, Song Feiwan finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank you, young master!"
The man replied, "Miss Song, once you have gathered the money, please seek me at the Bamboo Pavilion."
She had heard of the Bamboo Pavilion; it was the most elegant teahouse in the capital.
"Very well. May I ask how to address you?"
"My surname is Zhuo."
She guessed as much, considering that his two attendants were named Zhuo Da and Zhuo Er. Such a lack of sincerity, and being a foreigner to boot, it was clearly a false name.
However, Song Feiwan was only interested in the Xiahua; she wouldn't pry into unnecessary matters.
"Since we have come to an agreement, I won't disturb you any longer. Young Master Zhuo, farewell."
After bowing slightly, Song Feiwan turned to leave.
Before long, the man from inside stepped out.
As she had anticipated, he indeed possessed a face that seemed as if it had descended from the heavens—a strikingly handsome visage.
His sword-like brows arched elegantly over long, dark phoenix eyes. His nose was high and straight, with a small black mole on the tip.
His skin was pale and cool-toned, his lips a delicate shade, beautifully curved.
Though his lips were thin, they bore tiny lip beads.
His bone structure wasn't as pronounced as Zhuo Da or Zhuo Er's, but it was still three-dimensional, embodying a unique Eastern beauty.
His jawline was sharp and angular, revealing no flaws from any angle.
In contrast to his rare beauty was an exceptional aura—refined, noble, and aloof.
Anyone who laid eyes on him would inevitably praise him as a "jade tree swaying in the wind."
Yet beneath those piercing phoenix eyes lay an icy demeanor that kept others at bay.
Zhuo Da and Zhuo Er had followed him for over two years and understood his ways quite well.
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